


Last Yule

by ChainSmokesPens



Category: Original Work
Genre: Christmas, Fantasy, Flash Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainSmokesPens/pseuds/ChainSmokesPens
Summary: Prompt: [WP] For the first time in over 2000 years, Santa oversleeps on Christmas Eve, breaking his mind control over the elves. Now running way behind schedule, Santa’s workforce is really pissed off.





	Last Yule

"Kris..." his wife lovingly called. She had interrupted his dreams of peppermint snow and polar bear sled racing, but her angelic voice was the best way he'd found to rise in the morning. Still, in the daze of waking up he felt that a few more minutes of sleep wouldn't hinder his ability to complete his work. He slipped back into slumber in just enough time to catch and continue his dream where he'd left off. A massive, wooden krug of hot eggnog was in his left hand and a steaming boar's leg in his right as he observed the race.

"Kris," his wife called again. No matter. He slipped back into the dream, a little altered now. Kris Kringle now observed his workshop, humming with the murmurs of activity. The elves worked diligently, sitting at their diminutive tables, crafting and assembling a plethora of toys. Another team entered the workshop from outside, brisk snow blowing in momentarily as they pulled in a new supply of freshly-cut lumber.

Kris heaved a relaxed sigh. He checked his clock and noted that he was ahead of schedule. Pulling out his pipe, he snapped a flame to life between his fingers, igniting the tobacco-pine mixture within it. He drew in deep, exhaling audibly before shouting at the top of his lungs, "Boys!"

The work in the shop stopped immediately, expectant eyes turning to the foreman. "We're ahead of schedule! Keep this up and the Christmas Party will be-"

"Woden!"

That, the invocation of an ancient name, pulled him from his sleep. He knew something was wrong.

He pulled himself upwards in the bed. The first thing he noticed was that his blankets were not the soft blend of wool and cotton that he'd grown accustomed to, but the hides of bears, elk, and long-extinct megafauna.

The second thing he noticed was the clock hanging on the opposite wall, above the fireplace. The once beautifully-carved, light brown cherry wood clock encircled with an immense laurel wreath had transfigured into the rustic gray of an ash tree, wreathed in a circle of bladed weaponry.

He was behind schedule.

"Oh no." He touched his face. He still had both his eyes. There was still time to fix everything.

He'd overslept.

For the first time in millennia, he'd overslept.

He heard a grinding sound to his side and turned to his bedroom's door. His wife was pulling the bookshelf in front of the entrance. She, too, had changed. The once round-faced, rosy-cheeked, delicate love of his life had grown taller, dense with muscle and decorated in scars. With the bookshelf in place she made acknowledged her husband. "It's about time you got up, fat ass."

Kris pulled the sheets from himself and checked his body. He wasn't fat anymore. And he certainly wasn't jolly. "The enchantment has failed."

"No," his wife said. She wound her hand back and threw a pitch at the fireplace. Amber flames raced down the length of her arm and kindled the wood. She pulled an axe from the wall and threw it to her husband. "You failed."

"Me?" He caught the axe. "Get me another."

"Wouldn't you prefer a shield?"

Kris looked at her dumbly and beat his fists against his chest. "Look at me! Do I look to be the type of man afraid of flimsy arrows?"

"Fine." She threw him another axe. "But don't underestimate the elves. Even in their diminished states their craftwork was amazing. Who knows what they'll be capable of now that the enchantment's lifted."

Kris flipped his bed on its side and began pushing it towards the blockaded door. "Indeed." There was an audible slam on the other side of the wall. "How many do we have again?"

"Fifty thousand." Mrs. Klaus opened a hatch beneath the bed. She pulled out glowing baubles of red and blue plasma. "We can win, but there won't be enough elves left to continue making toys, Kris. Whether we win or lose, this could be the end of Christmas."

Kris took the baubles he was offered, pocketing them beneath his robes. He was handed a box and took it up. "We could return to Alfheim. Get more."

The look his wife shot him contained all the rejection he needed. Neither of them were the war gods they once were. The battle, even if taken away from the realm of man, would still be conspicuous, infecting the dreams of mortals from the conflict's inception to its completion with vicious images of gory conquest. It took centuries to separate the holiday from it's bloody roots. With the advent of modern technologies, they wouldn't have that luxury.

The banging on the wall got louder. The two turned their backs to it, facing the opposite wall. Kris moved his arms ritualistically, decimating the wall and letting the snow in from outside. Mrs. Klaus followed suit, though her motions had a different effect.

Outside, miles of snow twisted into the forms of white statues, composed of snow and ape-like in appearance, donning armor and weaponry from multiple cultures across multiple ages.

With a snap of her fingers, their eyes glowed to life.

The elves had felt it. Before the first snowman could make a battle cry the wooden wall downstairs exploded outward. Three massive harpoons shot into the company of golems and the elves rushed outside.

They'd grown from their small statures to their natural appearances. Each was tall and willowy, with long hair that ranged from chestnut brown to sandpaper brown. The remnants of their miniscule clothing clung to their athletic frames. They would be alluring if not for the weaponry in their hands.

From the blessed wood of the workshop they'd crafted arcane weaponry. Bows that shot arrows of light. Shields that resonated with the burst of thunder when struck. Swords that danced in the air in tune with their beautiful acapella.

There was a burst of wood and a pillar-sized arrow shot between the couple. Mrs. Klaus threw a blue bauble as she turned. A chance arrow nearly seized an opportunity in her openness. It was the quick hand of Kris, shielding his wife's abdomen with the broadside of an axe that saved her.

No less than ten elves began flooding the room. Two, demonstrably more zealous than the others, had come down through the chimney and where still draped in flames.

The couple bellowed, shaking their workshop down to it's foundation, and charged.

**Author's Note:**

> A really fun one to write. And actually heavily contributed to an idea for a story.


End file.
